


To Stop This Fallen Angel

by shelny18



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Lots of Angst, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, You Have Been Warned, of a sort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2013-10-05
Packaged: 2017-12-28 13:04:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shelny18/pseuds/shelny18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the world falling to pieces around them two groups manage to survive long enough to meet and change each others' lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Stop This Fallen Angel

**Author's Note:**

> I nearly gave up on the ending of this because it took me so long to write, but I simply had to finish it. This was originally a dream that just wouldn't go away.
> 
> Also, my first piece of writing as a university student! Whoo! (Also the reason why it took me a fortnight to finish writing this - Freshers week is crazy busy)
> 
> Title comes from a song called Metamorphosis by the band Magenta, because I was listening to the album whilst writing the end and it seemed very suitable.

It was three pm, seventeenth of November, and he hadn't spoken for two days.

"We have to end this," Bahorel growled, shooting a worried look over at the figure sat at the edge of camp. "He's a fucking time bomb." Eponine nodded, shooting their friends an apologetic look as she did so.

"Oh, and I suppose you think you're the one to do it," Feuilly muttered darkly, biting at the longest of his nails.

"I'd at least make it clean," he retorted, one hand reaching round to touch the crossbow slung across his back.

"And then you'd be dead yourself," Combeferre pointed out sensibly, ever the voice of reason. "Seeing as how he almost shot the last person to go over there."

"I could do it from here. It's a mercy."

"No," Marius interjected as he joined them. "It's his choice."

"And what about when his choice kills all of us?" Eponine snapped. "You might be willing to die for his peace of mind but I am most certainly not."

"We leave him for now," Combeferre decided, looking round everyone to make sure no-one was going to argue.

"Dammit 'Ferre he means to die this way, and he'll take us with him!" Eponine cried, throwing her hands up.

"Then that is his choice. Though if it gets to that stage, we deal with it." Combeferre's steely grey eyes were fixed on Bahorel's stormy brown ones as he spoke, a silent understanding passing between the two.

Bahorel never missed.

* * *

It was the fifth of January when Enjolras first heard of the disease.

"Have you heard?" Marius demanded the second he heard Enjolras entering their flat, looking up with a deep frown on his normally innocent face.

"Heard what?" the blonde sighed, already exhausted from a stressful day at work and really not in the mood for Marius's worrying.

"There's a pandemic," Combeferre explained calmly, eyes not shifting from the news currently playing on the TV. "People are going crazy and trying to attack others. Almost impossible to stop them, and if they succeed then you're infected as well."

"Only they're coming back from the dead," Marius interrupted, not noticing his studious friend rolling his eyes behind him.

"No, as that's physically impossible. It's not good though."

"Where?" Enjolras demanded, dropping his bag and moving closer to the sofa and TV.

"Started down south. London is closed off entirely, but we're still okay up here." He glanced over at Enjolras. "I'm not sure how long for though."

"Then we hole up. Marius, ring Courfeyrac. You and him go get us supplies, then come back here as quickly as possible. We can stay here until we decide what we're doing." Nodding Marius stood and left, already pulling out his phone as he went. "Why does Marius think they're coming back to life?" Enjolra asked once he'd gone, a lot more calmly than he felt.

"Because they are," Combeferre admitted tiredly, running a hand through his hair and rearranging his glasses. "Or at least, the old man at work today was most definitely dead before we saw him try to bite off a nurse's face."

"You said it wasn't here yet." Enjolras sounded hollow.

"Not to the same extent. We had three cases at the hospital this afternoon alone though. Enjolras, we have to get out of here. We should head to your parent's. They have a big house in the country where we can hide out until we know more. I know you don't get along, but staying put is too risky and it's the only place I can think of."

Staring at the wall, Enjolras made his decision. "Call Jehan. He's coming with us. We leave tonight, as soon as they arrive."

"Night is dangerous."

"Then we leave first thing in the morning. Now I am getting some sleep because I've been awake since yesterday morning. Wake me when everyone gets here."

* * *

They had no troubles getting out of the city centre, but driving through the suburbs the five friends suddenly noticed the lurching figure in front of them, his missing arm drawing their attention instantly.

"Shit," Courfeyrac hissed from the backseat.

"Stay calm," Enjolras ordered instantly, stepping into the role of leader once more. "'Ferre, keep driving. It will all be okay."

"Right. Okay. There's a fucking zombie in the road Enj! I highly doubt everything is going to be okay."

"Courfeyrac!" Jehan snapped, his normally pleasant voice sharp. "Calm down. You're helping no-one here."

The normally bouncy young man shrank into his seat, voice shaking as he mumbled, "Sorry. I just... this shouldn't be happening. The dead should stay dead. And what chance do we have against the dead? I mean, they're fucking dead man! It's a bit fucking difficult to kill something already dead!" His voice grew shriller and shriller as he spoke.

Seeing Enjolras open his mouth and guessing what his reply to the outburst might be, Marius quickly leant forwards and muttered, "We saw one of them last night. She was only a child and she attacked, killed and started to eat a grown man, right in front of us. A soldier was there and pumped her full of bullets and she just kept on going. She headed towards the soldier and was about to bite him when suddenly she collapsed, dead. Properly dead. We don't know why, but believe me when I saw they are pretty damn hard to kill."

"Plus the noise draws more," Jehan added lightly.

"Let's just keep going," Enjolras said grimly, sharing a worried look with his best friend before the driver's eyes returned to the road and he set off again.

* * *

An hour later and they were almost at Enjolras's childhood home.

"Are you sure this is the only place?" Enjolras murmured, the look on his face displaying exactly his relationship with his family (and especially parents).

"We don't have to stay for long. We just need somewhere to prepare and get our heads round this."

"But 'Ferre-"

"Enjolras stop sounding like a whining child," Combeferre snapped. "This is what is safest, for you and your friends, so this is what we are doing for now."

"They'll refuse to take in Jehan and Courf," the blonde hissed, glancing at the pair in questions. "Because they're homophobic pricks."

"Then we just stay the night. No, stop coming up with arguments against this Enjolras, it is our safest option."

* * *

Less than half an hour and they were on the road again.

"Told you so," Enjolras muttered, ignoring Combeferre's glare.

"Where now?" Marius asked quietly, the fear starting to kick in.

"We have camping gear, so we find ourselves somewhere to lay low and we do just that for a while. We can use the radio to check what's happening with the rest of the world." Now that he was no longer having to think about his parents Enjolras found himself stepping back up to take charge again. "That's all we can do."

* * *

Tenth of February the two groups met by accident.

When the friends heard their tincan wires jangling Enjolras was on his feet in seconds, reaching for the gun he'd found on a raiding trip as he headed quietly towards the noise, feet silent against the soft grass. The rest grabbed weapons as well but stayed in place, all watching carefully for the dead.

"Fucking hell Bossuet, can you make any more noise?"

"Sorry guys, I tripped."

"Will the pair of you shut up? Make much more noise Bahorel and every fucker in the area will know where we are."

The blonde's eyebrows shot up when he heard the voices.

"Hello?" he called out quietly, barely louder than the woman who had hissed at the two men.

"...Fuck, there's something out here."

"People you idiot," an exasperated voice snapped, and a tired looking ginger appeared in front of them, still talking over his shoulder as he did so. "For one thing Walkers don't talk. Nor do they pitch tents or carry guns." He held out one hand to Enjolras. "Feuilly."

"Enjolras. Any bites?"

"Not one," Feuilly shook his head. "We've been lucky."

"Same. Join us?"

"Guys!"

Within moments there were five of them standing there, most eyeing the five friends warily.

Bar one.

"Bahorel," the biggest offered up, slinging his crossbow onto his back and heading over to join them. "Shortarse is Feuilly, the unlucky bald guy is Bossuet, thin guy next to him with the weird hair is Joly, and that's Eponine. Don't piss her off or she will end you."

"Enjolras, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Marius and Jehan," Enjolras replied, indicating each person in turn. "Where are you guys from?"

"London. We got out a few days after it started. Lost five of ours on the way out though." Bahorel sighed, suddenly looking grimmer than ever. "'Ponine's little brother, Gavroche, tripped and got bit before we could do anything. He changed faster than we expected and before we could stop him he'd got the girls looking after him, Cosette and Musichetta. Well Valjean refused to leave his daughter, even though she was dead, and Javert wouldn't leave him. They may still be alive, but I doubt it. Surviving the city is impossible. Yourselves?"

"Manchester. We got out the day after it reached us." Enjolras glanced over at Combeferre, reassured when his friend gave him a tiny nod. "Would you like to join us? We have guns and tents, and you have guns and that bow. We'd be better off if we pool our resources."

"Trying to take over already blondie?"

"'Taire..." Bahorel said warningly but the voice's owner ignored him, instead striding out of the trees and towards Enjolras. If the blonde was honest he was a little concerned for his safety, what with the look on the man's face and the number of weapons he was carrying. As well as the longbow and arrows on his back he also had a gun under his jacket and another fastened to his hip, a knife sheathed at the other side. The handles of two smaller knives were obvious in his boots, as were the two strapped to his legs, but Enjolras's eyes were instantly drawn to the axe dangling from his right hand.

"You look like someone from a bad action film," he commented lightly, fingers itching to reach for the rifle he'd placed back down but somehow restraining himself from doing so.

"And you look like idiots. Your only weapons are guns? Do you want to get bit and turned into one of those fuckers?"

"We took what we could get," Enjolras snapped. "We've kept alive, that's what's important."

"Not all of us are fighters," Combeferre sighed, stepping in before they came to blows as he could see Enjolras getting more and more annoyed by the shrug the brunette gave.

"Neither are we," he retorted. "We're just not idiots."

"That's enough Grantaire," Feuilly interrupted, placing a hand on his arm lightly. "There's no advantage to pissing them off, not when we could be joining them."

"It's your funeral," Grantaire growled, shaking off the hand before turning and walking away.

"He's been through a lot," Feuilly said softly, looking round the five friends. "That's not an excuse, but it has to be said."

"We all have," Enjolras replied flatly before walking away himself, heading into his tent.

* * *

That night the main group all sat round one small fire, Bahorel and Combeferre sat at another, though Grantaire and Enjolras were both conspicuous through their absence.

"I'm a lecturer," Bahorel said quietly, leaning back against a tree and staring into the flames as he spoke. "I know I don't look it, but my speciality is Archaeology. I'm also a boxer though, and ran Viking and Battle societies at the uni. Hence the weapons. All we had to do was sharpen them. Feuilly makes fans and came to night classes at the university, which is how we met. Eponine was president of the Student Union this year and looked after her little brother after he ran away from their parents, the useless bastards. They've been dating for two years now. Joly and Bossuet were dating Musichetta who was a dressmaker. Joly's a doctor and Bossuet's a postgrad business studies student. They split up when she died, neither could fully cope with it you see. That took a lot out of us all actually. Cosette was one of my students - hell, she was the best. Her father was head of the school, and God only knows what was going on between him and Javert, chief of campus security, but it was enough that Javert wouldn't leave him whatever it was. Cosette was his only family, a girl he adopted about twelve years ago.

"Grantaire... Now he's tricky. He likes to keep his past hidden, though occasionally things slip out. We recognised him from the pub but knew nothing about him before this, bar the fact he drank too much. He's an artist, thrown out by his parents years ago and made his own living since then. He was close to his sister though, and he watched her be torn to shreds and eaten right in front of him because some idiots fired a gun and drew them all from miles around. That's why he had a go at Enjolras for the guns. He hates them. Only reason he's still alive is we found him and held him back. I know nothing else really, but he's deadly accurate with any of those weapons and I for one would not want to go against him." Bahorel sighed. "What about you guys?"

"I'm a doctor," Combeferre started, staring down at where he was fiddling with his hands compulsively. "Graduated last year. Lucky to be alive really, they went in and shot everyone in infected hospitals the day after we got out, whether alive or dead. 'A precaution' they called it. Yeah right. Courfeyrac worked in our local theatres. He used to be quite the actor and singer. Marius lived with me and Enjolras, he was training to become a primary school teacher. Jehan's a poet, but you can't get much money from that so he writes for the papers sometimes and has a blog. It was starting to get quite famous before all this.

"And then there's Enjolras. He's been our leader since him, Courf and me were at school together. Lawyer, one of the best in the North, and very politically inclined. Gotten us all arrested more times than I'd care to count, though we somehow managed to never let it happen to Marius. None of us wanted to fuck up his chances of a job. Enjolras is volatile and will snap easily but he's a good friend and a better shot. He's the reason we're all still alive."

"I have the feeling he's just going to constantly clash with Grantaire."

"Then we stop them from killing each other."

* * *

"I swear to God I'll shoot the bastard."

"No you won't," Combeferre sighed. "If you were then you would have done something already, plus it would be strategically stupid. Look, we need to sort out what we're doing next. Their car broke down a few days back and ours is out of gas. We need to move, we've been in one place for too long with too big a group. We need somewhere safe."

"North. Maybe they don't move as much if it's colder. Either there or west, into Wales. There's more countryside, less people, less Walkers as the guys like to call them. More places to hide." Enjolras sighed. "I don't care so long as we're moving."

"We should try and leave the country," Bahorel suggested as he passed, but Enjolras shook his head.

"Not until we know if this is contained to Britain or not."

"We can put it to the vote tonight," Combeferre decided. "So what were you two arguing about?"

The blonde scowled. "He called me Apollo and was mocking me."

"How old are you?" Combeferre snapped. "Honestly Enjolras, you're bigger than this."

"He just annoys the hell out of me."

"Well try to grow up, or just stay away from him."

* * *

"This is a bad idea," Grantaire growled as he studied their new camp, hiding from the rain with Eponine under the only tree nearby. "This place is too open."

"It's too dangerous to keep moving at this time of day," she countered and he knew he couldn't argue, not without going against everything he'd ever said. "When are you going to stop watching him?"

"When he realises it's raining and he's only wearing a t-shirt," the artist replied absentmindedly, swearing when he realised what he'd said and how hard Eponine was now laughing. "If you ever tell anyone I said that, I will leave you out for the Walkers."

"No you won't. Just go over there and talk to him. No, not argue but talk. Ask him how he is. What he thinks our chances are here. Hell, ask him his favourite colour if it starts a conversation between the two of you, because we are all sick of you two bickering constantly. Maybe suggest he put on a jacket as well, before that shirt turns any more seethrough."

Flipping her off Grantaire turned back to watching Enjolras as she wandered off, though he was considering her words carefully. Finally he cursed her and moved away from the tree, shrugging off his jacket as he went.

"Here, you're soaked," he muttered, dropping it onto the blonde's shoulders as he did so. "Didn't you think to grab a coat when it started raining, or did you just not even notice?"

"The tent needed putting up," Enjolras countered, though he stopped to pull the jacket on properly as he did so. When he glanced up though he frowned. "Wait but now you don't have a coat."

"I'll be fine," Grantaire shrugged. "I'm not the one at risk of pneumonia from prolonged exposure to the Welsh rain."

"We're not technically in Wales yet," Enjolras pointed out, but there was a small smile on his face. "Thanks."

Grantaire hesitated for a moment before blurting out, "What's your favourite colour?"

"I beg your pardon?" Enjolras blinked.

"Your favourite colour." Blushing Grantaire mumbled, "It was all I could think of, okay? I just wanted something that wouldn't make us argue again."

"Red. It's red." Enjolras smiled when Grantaire blushed even more at the fact he'd actually answered. "You?"

"Green, though I could make some pretty good arguments for a certain shade of blue right now," Grantaire said honestly, his face the most open Enjolras had ever seen it. Neither of them noticed Combeferre and Bahorel watching from a distance, smiling lightly as the blonde man blushed furiously. "Come on, let's get you inside."

"But I haven't finished putting my tent up yet," Enjolras protested as Grantaire steered him away.

"Because you're selfless and was helping others first, I know, but if you don't get inside you'll become ill."

He was interrupted by a scream of sheer terror and both span, Grantaire swearing when he saw what had happened, Enjolras grabbing the other man to stop him as he automatically jerked forwards to help.

Joly was the one screaming, Jehan holding him up as Bossuet swayed in front of them, a zombie knawing on his arm. Next thing anyone knew there was a crossbow bolt in the Walker's head and a gun pointed at the unlucky friend.

"We can't," Feuilly protested, catching his girlfriend's arm as she walked towards Bossuet.

"We have to," she said bluntly. "If we don't then we just will when he changes anyways."

"Please," Bossuet whispered, moving towards them until the gun was pressed against his forehead. "I can't become one of them. Please."

"I'm sorry," Eponine murmured, before pulling the trigger.

Everyone saw Joly collapse to his knees when Bossuet fell backwards, Jehan still beside him and comforting the doctor. Grantaire sagged in Enjolras's arms, feeling the pain of the loss acutely as Enjolras murmured sympathies, wishing he knew what to do.

"Let's get you inside," he whispered, unconsciously echoing Grantaire's words of only a few minutes ago. Abandoning his own half-constructed tent he pulled the brunette into his small tent, sitting them both down on the bed silently as he watched Grantaire with eyes full of worry. "Are you okay?" he murmured, feeling useless.

It suddenly struck him just how much he needed the other man to be okay. He'd known from the beginning that his feelings towards Grantaire were complicated but the depth of them had crept up on him, until suddenly he was watching the artist working his way through the grief, acutely aware that he needed him to be okay, that he wouldn't know what to do if Grantaire wasn't. Impulsively Enjolras hugged Grantaire tightly, relaxing minutely when Grantaire hugged him back instead of just pushing him away. "Tell me how I can help," he breathed into Grantaire's ear.

"Just hold me," came the reply.

That Enjolras could do.

And when, five minutes later, the pair found themselves kissing desperately, neither complained, though neither could they say who had made the first move.

* * *

Second of April everyone found out about the latest couples in the group.

"There were definitely noises coming from his tent last night," Eponine murmured into Feuilly's ear, glancing over at Jehan. "The poet's not as innocent as he looks."

"We all know that, it's not like he ever kept it a secret that he used to date Courfeyrac," he replied, twisting slightly so as to pull her into his lap and kiss her quickly.

"Maybe, but it wasn't Courf's voice you could hear."

She was saved from having to spill the beans by Joly shyly walking up to Jehan and smiling at him, the smile broadening as Jehan leaned in for a kiss.

"Told you," Eponine said smugly, her smirk only fading when Feuilly kissed her again, more passionately this time.

"Leave the gossip to others," he whispered as they parted for air before she was tangling her hands in his hair and pulling him back in.

On the other side of camp stood Bahorel and Combeferre, seemingly deep in discussion about something important. In actual fact the topic was more of a personal manner.

"Thank fuck they're finally getting along," Bahorel sighed, nodding over to where Enjolras and Grantaire were sat talking by a fire, Grantaire explaining archery to the blonde.

"They're more than that," Combeferre chuckled with a fond smile. "Enjolras didn't come back to the tent last night. If it wasn't him I'd think it an April's Fool, but Enjolras wouldn't even think of that. Nope, they're definitely involved."

"Well good for them," Bahorel announced, Combeferre agreeing.

* * *

It was of no surprise to anyone when Enjolras started joining Grantaire on his scouting missions, even less so when they started arriving back with scruffy hair and bedraggled clothes (once even with what looked like a nest of twigs tangled into both their curls). It was politely (and not so politely in Eponine's case) suggested to them that they either quieten down or move their tent, but Grantaire would just smirk whilst Enjolras flushed a dark red, never himself getting used to the cries and noises Grantaire managed to draw from him daily whenever they were in private.

"I love you," he gasped one night into Grantaire's neck as he was catching his breath, Grantaire's own breath hitching as he heard him.

"You too," the brunette whispered, clutching him closer before chuckling. "Oh, the urge to go all Han Solo on you."

"Ha ha ha," Enjolras muttered dryly, rolling so they were both on their sides, though still pressed close together. "You know, maybe this apocalypse wasn't so bad after all," he continued, just as quietly. "I mean, if life as we knew it hadn't have ended, I would never have met you."

"And your life would be all the easier," Grantaire chuckled.

"Liar," he retorted, rolling once more so he was on top. "My life would be boring as hell without you there. I'd still be a half-decent lawyer who gets arrested far too regularly if this hadn't have happened. I'd still be stuck in that life, thinking I was happy and content and with no idea what was waiting for me. Before this, I hadn't had a boyfriend since I was twenty-two. Now, even with the world gone to hell around me, I'm in love and happier than I've been in years. I would never go back 'Taire, never."

"Well, I suppose it's just as well that I agree then," smirked the artist, leaning up to capture Enjolras's lips in a bruising kiss. All other words were forgotten for the rest of the night.

* * *

Summer was hard for the group, as although the longer hours meant they could travel further and hunt more in a day, it seemed like there was more zombies around by night.

"Who'd have thought it, we're in Wales and there's no fucking rain," Bahorel growled as he glared at the zombie he'd just shot down, already busy pulling the bolt from his brain. "I never knew zombies didn't like getting wet."

"Maybe we'll get lucky and there's a storm on the way," Feuilly laughed, knowing Bahorel's legendary fear of lightening and so ignoring the finger flipped his way.

"Here's an idea, post a guard and let everyone get some sleep," Enjolras snapped grumpily, snagging his boyfriend by the waist and giving him pleading looks until Grantaire finally took the hint and, with a small smile and a wave at everyone, followed the blonde into their tent.

"I'll take first watch," Jehan announced, giving his own boyfriend an apologetic kiss on the cheek before bouncing over to climb on top of the car.

"Sleep people," Combeferre said firmly, doing one last head count before heading into his own tent.

Barely two hours had passed when they were all woken by the cries.

"Wha'?" Enjolras mumbled blearily as he staggered from his tent, Grantaire close on his heels and everyone else close behind. The cries had come from Courfeyrac who had the job of second watch but it took a few moments for everyone to realise what had happened.

Jehan was standing in the middle alone, bar the dead zombie at his feet, but it was the blood gushing from his neck which drew attention, Bahorel grabbing Joly and Combeferre Courfeyrac as both men started forwards.

"I'm sorry guys," Jehan whispered, his eyes going from Courfeyrac to Combeferre, Grantaire and round the rest of his friends before ending up on Joly, his apology written so deeply in that one look that all Joly could do was sob helplessly as he fought against Bahorel's grip. "I'm so, so sorry."

And with that he did the only thing he could - brought the gun up to his head and pulled the trigger.

* * *

It was October before any of them were near being over Jehan's death, the poet had made such an impact on them all, but it was Courfeyrac and Joly who grieved most, the two men who had come to love the younger man more than they loved themselves, to the point where it was impossible for them to ever stop these feelings.

"We need somewhere safe to lie low for a while," Grantaire sighed one night as he lay in Enjolras arms, enjoying the feeling of his curls being lightly stroked by the blonde. "We can't keep on moving constantly, we're running out of the will to keep going, especially now Jehan's gone. We need to ask everyone where though."

"Then tomorrow we decide on somewhere," Enjolras agreed. "But for now I just need you. With you in my arms I can beat anything, even death itself," he whispered, pressing a kiss to his temple.

* * *

By November thirteenth they'd been living in the Ribble Valley for just over a month with no attacks.

"Hey love," Enjolras said fondly, dropping a kiss to Grantaire's cheek as he slid into the seat next to him and leant over to see what he was reading. "The Aeneid? I never managed to get through that when I studied it at college."

"Really?" Grantaire sounded surprised. "Let me guess, you were more of a Greek literature guy."

Enjolras shook his head, almost sheepishly. "No, I never managed Homer either. I prefered modern fiction, fantasy or sci fi and sometimes even a funny kids book." He couldn't stop the blush that was colouring his face a delicate pink as he said that. "Then I actually paid attention to the news and realised what arseholes the government were so I started on non-fiction and working against them. That was when I changed my plan to becoming a lawyer. Before then I wanted to be a writer."

"And you would have been a fucking perfect writer," Grantaire told him, reaching over for a kiss. "But I wish I'd gotten to see you as a revolutionary at some protest. I would have attended them all for you, just to hear you speak. I mean, you're passionate enough now, with political fervour you must have been incredible."

"We should go eat," Enjolras said abruptly, not liking the feeling of fear he had felt inside at those words, the fear that if Grantaire had been there he may have gotten injured if things turned violent, injuries which would have been his fault, a fear which these days was ridiculous and outdated but he felt all the same. "I know you haven't eaten for the past few hours and you must be feeling hungry by now."

"Okay," Grantaire agreed with a smirk, not at all fooled by the quick change of subject.

* * *

Grantaire was on his best behaviour that night, too busy nestling into Enjolras to bother drinking too much from the bottle Feuilly had found on his last raiding mission as it was passed round or chip into the discussion with any of his usual sarcastic comments.

"I need to pee," he announced about an hour into the chatter, kissing Enjolras deeply before standing, flipping off Bahorel and Eponine for their wolfwhistles, and heading off into the nearby undergrowth. The second he was out of hearing range everyone turned to look at Enjolras.

"Well?" Marius demanded. "Have you told him yet?"

"Told him what?" Enjolras asked innocently, looking round them all.

"That you want to marry him, or do the closest thing to it!"

"No." He smiled. "I plan to tonight though, once you guys have all gone to bed."

"Congrats," Joly said quietly, the small smile he gave the blonde meaning more to Enjolras than anything else his friends said in that moment. It was obvious to all how much the doctor still missed Jehan, still grieved his death constantly, still blamed himself for not preventing it somehow, and so the remaining two couples had done their best to tone down the romantics when he was around, just to try and make life that bit more bearable for him.

"Walkers!" Courfeyrac suddenly yelled, a second before they heard a rifle fire one, twice, thrice in quick succession. Bahorel was on his feet in seconds, crossbow in hand, whilst everyone else dived towards their tents to collect their own weapons.

All bar Enjolras.

"Grantaire!" he hissed, pulling out both his gun and the knife he'd started hiding in his boot ever since he'd become friends with Grantaire. Slowly he headed towards the patch of bushes Grantaire had gone into, eyes scanning for any sign of the artist, his heart pounded more than ever when he saw nothing but darkness.

Finally a pair of blue eyes appeared out of nowhere, the relief in them overwhelming when he saw Enjolras was unharmed.

"I heard Courf shout," he whispered as he made his way over, only just loud enough for the blonde to hear. Gunfire interrupted them then, starting up once more behind Enjolras and causing them both to look over his shoulder.

What Enjolras saw when he looked back at Grantaire terrified him more than anything.

"No!" he gasped, jumping forwards to push Grantaire to one side just as the zombie reached forwards, then instantly fighting for his life as the Walker caught him instead. The dead woman was deceptively strong and Enjolras knew the exact moment he lost, eyes flashing to Grantaire - struggling with his own attacker - before her teeth sunk into his shoulder, drawing the cry from him as she ripped a chunk of flesh away. Enjolras almost fainted from the pain, only coming to his senses moments later when he felt three more simultaneous bites to his leg, side and neck as new Walkers reached him. The pain from that was so intense that he couldn't fight back but also couldn't black out, instead stuck inside the wall of fiery agony that was quickly working its way round his body.

He knew the exact moment Grantaire turned to face him, the gutteral cry echoing round his head long after Grantaire had snatched up Enjolras's gun from where he'd dropped it and fired, uncaring of the noise as he downed a Walker with each shot, falling to his knees next to the other man once they were all truly dead.

"Enjolras," he practically whimpered, the name more of a plead than anything else, a desperate beg for it to be a dream, for Enjolras to not really be lying in his arms bleeding heavily. Enjolras shook slightly as he lay there, fighting the blackness he could feel rapidly approaching, eyes fixed on Grantaire's face so as to give him a reason to stay.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, one hand fluttering up to touch Grantaire's face gently, neither of them caring about the blood it transferred to there.

"Bandages!" Grantaire shouted, looking round at the friends who had gathered once the fighting had stopped, all with grim looks on their face. "Combeferre. Joly. You're doctors. Please do something. Anyone." His voice cracked and lowered into a whisper as he spoke, tone that of a man broken by the world, not knowing how to go on.

"There's nothing we can do," Combeferre said softly, placing a hand on Grantaire's shoulder as he did so and hating himself for those five words more than he ever had. "I'm sorry Grantaire but you know the facts. Once you've been bitten, it's only a matter of time."

"He can't die. He just can't!" Turning back to Enjolras Grantaire grasped his face desperately, pressing an urgent kiss to his rapidly blueing lips. "You have to live," he breathed, tears falling onto the blonde's face. "You can't die. I won't let you."

"Give them some space," they barely heard Feuilly murmur to everyone until they backed up, even Combeferre, Courfeyrac and Marius heading a short way aways, though not as far as the others and watching more carefully.

"I wanted to talk to you," Enjolras gasped, eyes fixed on Grantaire's slightly darker ones, hand still touching his cheek softly. He was struggling with his breathing, had to stop every few words to gasp for air, but Grantaire didn't care, just focused on the words being said. "About us. I wanted to ask you... ask you to marry me. Or something... like that. Whatever's closest these days. I love you, you see."

"Just you try and stop me," Grantaire whispered. "I love you so fucking much, so don't you dare fucking die on me now. Not until we're married. I don't know who'd do it though, seeing as you're the lawyer. Maybe Combeferre, as the doctor, or Bahorel as the ancient history expert. He'd probably know of some simple ceremony from back then we could do. Although if the man has to carry the woman it'd definitely have to be me carrying you." He smiled weakly. "Now you have to live. Or we could just change one of our names, say we're married. In fact..." Reaching under his shirt Grantaire pulled out the necklace he always wore, unfastening it and slipping off the ring it held before holding it out to Enjolras. "This was my sister's. She got married three years ago, it was the only thing I had time to grab after... what happened. So, Enjolras. I love you. Marry me?"

"Any day," Enjolras chuckled faintly, just about managing to hold up his hand long enough for Grantaire to slid the ring on and kiss it softly. "Now hold me. Please. I need you. It... It hurts so much 'Taire, and I don't know how long I can last."

"Forever," Grantaire said firmly, curling up next to Enjolras and wrapping his arms round him as tightly as he dared. "And you told me why a few weeks ago. Do you remember?"

"With you in my arms I can beat anything, even death itself," Enjolras breathed almost silently, resting his head against the brunette's shoulder and breathing as deeply as he could, his wounds still leaking blood though the flow was slowing now as his body ran out of the deep red life force. "I love you."

* * *

When Grantaire woke the next morning Enjolras was gone, his shell lying stiff and cold in his arms.

"No," he whispered, hands clutching at his dead boyfriend frantically, his voice raising until finally the agonised cries echoed round the camp, cries which haunted all within earshot for the rest of their lives. "Nononononononononononono." Sitting there he rocked slightly, Enjolras in his arms as the tears steadily fell, tears which hadn't fallen since he'd hit the age of ten and worked out his parents would never care about him, tears which hadn't even fallen when he'd watched his sister, his only loving family member, be torn apart whilst still alive. "You said you could beat it! You promised you'd always be here for me! You can't be dead, you just can't!"

In the background Courfeyrac caught Combeferre as he stumbled and fell, the look of pain on his face almost as agonised as Grantaire's, Marius standing beside them both helplessly, silent tears streaming down his own face as he let himself give up all hope. If Enjolras couldn't fight it off, then the rest of them didn't stand a chance if infected.

* * *

By noon the tears had stopped and Grantaire had been silent for an hour. Instead of pleading with Enjolras to come back to him, to wake up, to tell him it was all just a bad joke, that everything would be okay, he now just sat there staring at his pale face, one hand resting on his chest while the other stroked back his blonde curls automatically.

"We need to deal with the bodies," Bahorel told Feuilly, nudging his friend's shoulder. "You start the fire, I'll move them over."

"We should give people time to grieve," Feuilly countered but Bahorel was shaking his head before he'd even finished speaking.

"No, we need to get rid of them," he said firmly, leaving no room for arguments. "And we have to deal with him." Feuilly didn't have to ask to know who he was talking about.

"He gets a grave," he said softly, eyes flickering over to where Grantaire was still hunched over Enjolras. "We don't burn the living."

"Leave it much longer and he won't be living anymore," Bahorel growled.

"It's times like these I remember you're not as calm and human as everyone thinks," sighed Feuilly. "You actually like the fighting."

"I like living," he snapped. "Unless we deal with him he will come back as one of them, and his one sole aim will be to eat us all. Now I don't know about you, but I sure as hell would rather not be Walker chow."

"It's barely been a few hours," came a faint voice from behind him and Bahorel turned slightly to see Combeferre standing there, face pale enough that the tear tracks stood out starkly.

"That means nothing," the boxer said bluntly. "When Gavroche died he'd changed before an hour was up. I get that he was your friend, he was mine as well, but he will be a Walker before the end of the day. No-one lasts longer than that. Ergo, we need to deal with him."

"Not yet," was his only reply. "Though I will help you with the rest."

Bahorel knew when not to push his luck so left it for then.

* * *

By the next day even Enjolras's oldest friends were worried.

"Grantaire hasn't slept or spoken," Courfeyrac murmured to Combeferre, "and as much as I hate to say it, Enjolras is going to wake up any moment now. No-one has ever been heard of to last this long, never mind longer. I don't like this any more than you do, but someone has to talk to Grantaire."

"I will," Combeferre decided, his own sad eyes fixed on the man he had considered a brother. "I've known him longest."

Slowly and with great reluctance he made his way over to where Grantaire was still cradling Enjolras, crouching next to the artist and touching his arm lightly.

"'Taire?" he said softly, voice gentle. "Are you okay?" When he got no reply he sighed. "Grantaire, he wouldn't want this. He wouldn't want to become one of them. We have to finish this."

The gun suddenly pressed to his forehead made Combeferre reconsider and stand slowly.

"On second thoughts maybe you can have a little longer," he decided, backing away towards the rest of their group.

"Give him a little longer," he said in reply to Marius's questioning look, Grantaire having already put the gun back away and gone back to holding Enjolras's hand tightly.

* * *

When they all awoke the following morning, the seventeenth of the month, everyone was worried.

"Enjolras wouldn't want this," Combeferre repeated, glancing over at where Grantaire was still sat, still silent. "He'd want him to move on somehow, to let him go. He loved him too much for this. If he could see this... it would end him."

"He also wouldn't want to become a brains-eating zombie," Marius pointed out, Courfeyrac unable to stop himself from smiling slightly as he nodded in agreement.

"What can we do?" Joly asked softly.

"Nothing we can do," Feuilly shrugged. "Grantaire's a stubborn little bastard. Give him a few hours, maybe he'll have finished saying goodbye by then."

"In a few hours Enjolras will be a Walker," Bahorel snapped, his finger twitching by his crossbow as he spoke. Once again, I'd rather he didn't eat me."

"I dunno," Courfeyrac mumbled. "I mean, he's lasted two days. Who knows how long he could last now, he's already broken every record out there."

"No," Bahorel said firmly. "He's not fucking magic no matter how much we may want to believe he is. He will wake up sooner or later, and I'm placing bets on sooner."

"Give. Him. Time," Feuilly repeated. "I mean it Bahorel."

* * *

It was almost dark when Enjolras woke.

"Enj-Enjolras?" Grantaire croaked, voice weak and hoarse from lack of use as he stared down into the now open eyes, their once blue now paler than normal, so pale they were almost grey, and filled with a look Grantaire couldnt even begin to describe. "I... I missed you. I'm so sorry. Sorry I was too late. I tried, I swear, but there was nothing I could do. No-one else even tried, they just left you for dead, but I couldn't. I love you so much Enjolras."

"Shit," Courfeyrac murmured, nudging Marius when he saw Grantaire talking to the corpse. "Find Combeferre."

"Bahorel," Combeferre called quietly when Marius had explained things. "Be ready. Just in case."

"I'm sorry," Grantaire whispered again as Enjolras reached out for him, tangling his fingers in the brown curls and dragging his head down towards him. He didn't try to bite Grantaire however, just stared into his eyes and made a low moan, one which those close enough would later swear sounded like 'R'. "I'm here," Grantaire whispered.

He knew the exact moment all traces of Enjolras were lost. The grey eyes snapped to the darkest black and his hands started to tighten, pulling Grantaire towards him with much more force than before as his teeth snapped, eager for the taste of his flesh. Grantaire let him, a fact which had Bahorel raising his crossbow to aim carefully for what little of Enjolras's head he could see.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, voice calmer now as he lifted his gun and placed it against the side of Enjolras's head, bending his own so it was resting at the other side, all perfectly lined up. With one last deep breath he closed his eyes and whispered, "With you in my arms I can beat anything, even death," and pulled the trigger.


End file.
